


heavy lies the crown

by subduedSubtype



Category: Fallen London | Echo Bazaar
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Multi, The Fervent Brawler (oc), The Restless Scrivener (oc), pairing tags added as they appear, ruthless henchman is actually the meticulous henchman
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:40:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21723139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subduedSubtype/pseuds/subduedSubtype
Summary: The Fervent Heir finds a friend, dismantles a conspiracy, and falls in love, not necessarily in that order.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	1. same as always

**Author's Note:**

> This is a royalty au based on my and Squidkisser's fl ocs. No real knowledge of fallen london is necessary.
> 
> Starring:  
> The Neurasthenic Assassin as himself  
> The Meticulous Henchman as the Meticulous Guard-Captain  
> The Inconvenient Aunt as the Regent Aunt

A person slipped in the door as it was closing, arms full.

They leaned back against it, holding it open for the shopkeep behind them. The shopkeeper beckoned them over to a shelf behind the counter, and the person staggered gratefully over and began to help unload their burden.

"You sure have a lot of stuff."

The shopkeeper laughed. "Of course. Good thing a strong lad like you came along to help me with it."

"You looked like you were havin' a lot of trouble with it, I couldn't just walk on by."

Together, the two of them piled the goods on the counter. The shopkeeper began to sort them while the other took the chance to rest for a moment.

"Need any more help?" 

"No, no, I'd hate to trouble you further." The shopkeep waved them off cheerfully. "I can manage the rest on my own. Thank you, Brawler."

The Fervent Brawler gave him a smile and began to turn to leave.

"Ah, wait."

They glanced at the shopkeep over their shoulder.

"You've got some dirt - yes, right there. There you go." 

The Brawler rubbed their face once more to ensure it was clean, and took their leave. The shopkeep returned to his work, stocking the shelves.

\-------

Outside, the village was bustling. Most storefronts were simple tables outside of the merchant's homes, with the rare exception, such as the one the Brawler had just finished carrying goods for.

It was far from the first time the Brawler had visited this town, and if they had any say in it, it wouldn't be the last. The people here were warm and friendly, even back when the Brawler had been but a stranger to them. They had welcomed them (and their money) into their market, and the Brawler had won them over with their helpful nature and earnest smiles.

...of course, they got their use-name in one of a handful of ill-advised drunken brawls, but one has to let loose once in a while.

They much preferred 'the Fervent Brawler' over their other name. 

They much preferred this life over their other life, too.

While they wanted to stay, the Captain would be annoyed with them if they were late getting back. And their little excursions relied on the Meticulous Captain's good graces.

They adjusted their travelling cloak and set off for home.

The sunlight was warm on their shoulders. It bathed the houses on the outskirts of town and the forest path beyond in soft golden light. It always looked this way in the late afternoon, when most folks were running errands or finishing up work. 

The forest path itself, in contrast, was a welcoming green. The path itself was cushioned with mosses, though one had to stay wary of the occasional tree root waiting to trip the incautious traveler. Here, the sunlight filtered through the broad leaves, casting dancing shadows across the ground and the Brawler.

This path was as familiar as the back of their hand, as was the passageway that waited for them at the end of it. The Brawler began to slow as it came into view, reluctant to return to their cage.

It couldn't be put off forever. They had to go home eventually.

With a sigh, the Brawler stashed their cloak in the hollow of a large tree's roots, and dusted themself off as best they could. They squared their shoulders, and marched through the gated passage.

It was dark inside, but well-maintained. The Captain wouldn't allow anything less, for a passageway the Brawler used so often.

They emerged into the courtyard, the stone turning the sunlight watery. They missed the welcoming atmosphere of the village square already. 

A bearded man spotted them, and strode across the courtyard.

"You're late."

"I got caught up helping a merchant -" The Brawler protested.

"Irrelevant. You knows you have to be back no later than three hours past lunch."

The Meticulous Guard-Captain was a stern man, with a heavy accent. Rumours said he used to be a sailor before he entered the guard. Other rumours said he was a mercenary, who joined up just to get close to the princess.

Such rumours handily ignored that there was no "princess" at the castle.

"Sorry, Captain," said the Brawler, not sounding very sorry at all. "I lost track of time."

The Guard-Captain grunted, giving the Brawler a look that said he knew very well that they'd just not wanted to return.

"Get inside before yer tutor comes looking for you. They won't be happy to find ya here."

The Brawler was off before the Captain had even finished speaking. He watched them rush up the stairs into the palace with an exasperated sigh and a fond smile.

The Fervent Heir was home.

\-------

That evening, the Heir shut their door behind them and collapsed onto their bed.

They hated lessons when they focused on politics and etiquette. They disliked being forced to be put-together and regal, like a show horse on parade. It exhausted them to pretend to be someone they weren't.

The Fervent Brawler suited them much better. 

Their great aunt, the current regent, was always after them for skipping lessons. Nevermind that they always attended their swordplay training, the Guard-Captain would skin them if they missed that. It would be the end of their trips outside the castle grounds, where they could just be the Brawler.

They’d tried to express as much once, to the Captain. No one else was close enough to them to tell, save perhaps their aunt, who was a believer in being Proper. He’d gotten a sort of distant look on his face, but it was gone before they could read deeper into it. He’d simply tossed them their sword and ran them through more drills. 

It might’ve been a distraction. 

Their work today, the heavy lifting in the village, their dull lessons, the inevitable lecture for disappearing all day, left them feeling drained. Every day the same. Their visits to the people outside the castle walls were the highlight of their days.

They fell asleep, hardly bothering to change out of their tunic.

\-------

The next morning brought much the same as the last. The Heir awoke, got up, and dressed in the stiff clothes laid out by the servants, before heading to breakfast with their aunt.

Their aunt was a stern woman, with greying hair but sharp eyes. She would hold the throne until the day she deemed the Heir ready for it, which at this rate, may never come. 

She frowned at the Heir as they appeared, disheveled, from the doorway.

"A prince can't be running around with their hair in a mess, child."

The Heir rubbed the back of their neck and offered a wan smile.

"I just woke up, auntie. I've barely had a chance to -"

The Regent Aunt cut them off with an exasperated wave and motioned towards their chair, the place already set. The Heir sat down, hiding a sheepish expression.

Breakfast today was simple, as far as royal meals go. Just them, the Aunt, and the usual assorted servants around the borders of the room. The meal itself was homemade bread, sliced thick and covered in butter, along with the usual offering of a large bowl of fruit, some of which one would never see outside the halls of the wealthiest folk. 

That's at least one good thing about being royalty, thought the Heir. All the fruit I could ever want.

They'd just reached for the bowl when their aunt cleared her throat at them. She fixed them with a disapproving stare and spoke.

"You've been disappearing from the castle grounds again. I thought I'd forbidden it after the incident with the squidmen."

"The Rubberies aren't evil, auntie -" 

The Aunt interrupted them before they could finish their protest.

"You've even adopted the peasants' name for them! Lord, one would never know you were royalty."

The Heir leaned on their elbow, ignoring their aunt's look of dismay at the display.

"The 'peasants' are our people. How'm I supposed to rule them without knowing them? Besides, they're nice."

"'Nice'."

"Yes. There's an old woman in the village who likes to give me sweets when I help carry things for her, and the carpenter always needs a hand with *something*, and the kids have this game with a ball and -"

"You've been WORKING for them? For gods' sake, you're the heir to the throne! Act like it."

The Aunt's face had reddened, and she was glaring at the Heir across the table. After a moment, she announced that she had lost her appetite, thank you, and don't forget you lessons today, Heir, and she swept away from the table. A servant moved in to quietly clear away her place.

The Heir finished their breakfast in silence, awkward around the servants standing like sentries along the walls. 

"All I have to do is make it through morning lessons," they spoke under their breath, "then I can leave."

When their breakfast was done, they walked as fast as they dared to the castle library, where their tutors awaited them.

\-------

Most of their lessons were uneventful, until their harried politics teacher dropped a stack of paper in front of them.

The Heir looked it over with a confused eye.

"What's all this?"

"The job titles and current gossip on the noble families attending the banquet, clearly. Read and review, please, Your Highness."

"Wait - banquet? When?" 

The tutor raised an eyebrow at them. 

"Tonight. Did you forget?"

The Heir cursed under their breath and grabbed for the papers. They flipped through them rapidly.

Each had a sketch of the head of the family, their name, and what they were known for, as well as current alliances and rivalries. It also named any notable children - the inheritors of the families' fortunes, the ones with potential, the ones who would be viable marriage partners -

The Heir skipped over those entries.

Among the nobles, they had met many of them before. The Arrogant Earl, in charge of forestry around the capital, had a son their age who had tried to dance with them and had stolen their bracelet when they declined. The Reticent Lady, responsible for the central bank, the largest outside of the royal treasury. The Stubborn Count, a retired knight who’d been granted a title, had a son who was a squire at the castle, and two daughters, the eldest of which would be attending the banquet tonight. The Ambitious Baronet, brother to the Count, without any heirs of his own.

The Heir skimmed the use-names: the Bright Squire, the Dutiful Daughter, and their private nickname for the Earl's son - the Jewel-Thief. Not that they could ever call him that without bringing the wrath of their aunt down on their head.

They had only until the afternoon to memorize as much of these as possible. They stretched and got to work.

\-------

That evening, they were forced to sit still while servants poked and prodded at them, fixing their dress, their hair. Although they'd liked to have stalled longer, they were out of time. A footman appeared at their doorway.

"The guests are arriving, Your Highness."

The Heir nodded to him. "Thank you. You can go."

The footman left with a polite bow.

Brushing away the last of the servants fussing over them, the Heir made their way to the hall. They had arrived just as the first guests were making their way in. Many of the older guests stopped to greet them, their children fawning over the Heir in a way that was profoundly uncomfortable.

They recognized the Jewel-Thief, of course. It took effort to maintain the polite smile as he bowed low to kiss their hand. A woman giggled behind him, clearly finding him charming.

The Heir finally made it into the hall and waded through the crowd to their aunt. She gave them a once-over and smiled in approval.

“You look regal, my dear. Do enjoy yourself, won’t you?”

“Yes, auntie.” The Heir offered the prim smile they’d been taught. Their aunt reached over and patted their arm gently.

“Go on, mingle. Make some connections.”

The Heir left to do just that.

Most of the guests were tedious. Polite just because they were the heir to the throne and they wanted power and influence. Some more so than others. Among the few whose bearing didn’t scream fake were the Reticent Lady, who barely cared for social functions as it was, and the Stubborn Count’s Dutiful Daughter. 

They were dressed modestly, with long dark hair pulled back into an elegant bun. When they were introduced, they had offered the Heir a polite bow and kiss on the hand, as was customary, but they barely spoke, and took their leave as soon as was polite. The Heir didn’t think much of it at the time, as there were always the more timid people here, dragged along by more powerful personalities. They had a surprise at the end of the night, however, when their aunt whispered to them that the Stubborn Count had a social-climbing brother, who may try to push an arranged marriage on the Daughter, as he had no children of his own.

That wasn't unusual. Many families used their children as pawns in that game of influence. Few of the children were happy about it. The Dutiful Daughter seemed to have a knack for hiding their true feelings.

The Heir, after the Daughter had taken their leave, spotted the Jewel-Thief making his way back across the room towards them. They slipped away through the crowd as hastily as they dared. They were loathe to engage him in conversation after he'd stolen from them and humiliated them.

It was not a memory they were eager to revisit.

The Thief had been charming and witty, if not handsome. He'd charmed lords and ladies alike. The Regent Aunt herself had been won over. 

He'd secured permission to court the Fervent Heir. He'd brought gifts of - in hindsight, possibly stolen - jewelry and other little treasures. The Heir collected them as a magpie might, and delighted in the Thief's flattery. They did not suspect it was fake until the rumours reached them.

The Thief had been caught in a noblewoman's bedchamber in a state of undress, the pockets of his discarded coat full of baubles. The Heir was evidently not the only one he'd been wooing. 

Even now, the Heir was forced to wonder if he had actually liked them, or if he'd been after money and status the entire time.

They shook themself free from their thoughts at the edge of the crowd. A glance back told them that the Thief had not spotted their retreat.

I've mingled enough for one night, they decided.

They placated a servant who had come to check on them and left the hall to make their way to their rooms.

\-------

They shut the heavy wooden door behind them and leaned against it with a heavy sigh. Away from the vultures, they could drop their mask, and be the Fervent Brawler again.

They made their way to their desk, strewn with loose papers. Study materials and notes from their lessons. The true valuables were hidden.

The Brawler opened the top drawer on the right and ran their nails over the bottom until they caught on a seam. Lifting it up revealed pages of scientific notes.

Each had a sketch of a beast. A dog with tendrils along its jaw, a creature that resembled nothing so much as a large bat with horns, a changeling that could steal ones' identity and replace them - creatures of myth. Their aunt would confine them to their chambers if word ever got out that the Brawler was chasing legends.

But they weren't legends. They'd seen them in the flesh; they'd heard the villager's tales whispered over mugs of cheap beer and around campfires. They'd once found the aftermath of an attack; a group of overzealous villagers with a bit too much to drink had gone after a squid-man. They were called Rubbery men, after the general texture of their skin: tacky and cool to the touch.

This was what their aunt referred to as 'the incident with the squidmen'. They'd been forced to stop their excursions for a few weeks while the Aunt had them watched. They'd finally managed to shake their babysitters with the help of the Meticulous Guard-Captain. He approved of their trips to town.

"A ruler should know who they's ruling," was his stance on the matter. The Brawler was perfectly happy to take advantage of his help.

They leafed through their notes, sorting them by species. They hadn't found any more information than the last time they'd sat down with their notes, but it was calming to go through them nonetheless.

This catalogue of 'monsters' could be invaluable when it came to protecting their subjects. Many of them were only aggressive if one threatened them. The Rubberies in particular were peaceful, and were faster to flee than defend themselves. If they could just convince people of that, then - 

Well, they'd have to get their Aunt to admit they existed, first. Then they could work on telling everyone else. But how to do it without being locked in their chambers until they saw sense?

They sighed and dropped the papers on their desk. This wasn't helping right now. Better to just clean it up and head to their bedchamber.

They changed into their nightclothes alone and dismissed the maid that waited outside their door. Sleep was a long time coming after the stress of the day, but they did not remember when they fell asleep.

\-------

The next few days brought much of the same. They'd been busy enough that they had hardly made the time to head outside the castle walls. There were more dinners, as always, with a rotating cast of nobles who began to blend into one another after a while. 

Few were notable enough to remember, though they noticed a few repeat faces: the Jewel-Thief, always with a smile for them over his wineglass; the Dutiful Daughter, ever polite but distant; the Quiet Baronet, handsome in a cold way but perfectly courteous. 

They all three offered a nod or a smile when their eyes met the Heir's across the room. They felt the Aunt’s eyes on them with every move. Probably assessing suitable pairings, whether for friendship or marriage. The Heir would prefer not to marry anyone. They could barely tolerate the Thief, though the Daughter and the Baronet were alright. 

They played the part they were expected to and bided their time. Their opportunity came during a fencing lesson with the Guard-Captain.

A squire ran up, panting. He took a moment to catch his breath before addressing the captain.

“Sir! There’s reports of a monster in the woods. I was ordered to bring it to your attention.”

The Guard-Captain sighed but passed his practice sword to the Heir.

“Let’s go, then. You,” he fixed the Heir with a warning look, “are to stay here. Understood?”

He turned and walked off. The Heir waited a moment, two, three.

Time to go. 

They put the practice swords back on their rack and made their way as casually as possible to their usual passageway. Their usual dark cloak was waiting for them. They pulled it on and followed the passage to the outside of the castle walls.

The forest was dark, the leaves overhead blocking most of the sunlight. They crept through the trees, watching for any break in the pattern of the branches and underbrush. There was no sign of the guards, or of anything else, until there was a loud crashing from the treetops somewhere in front of them.

The Brawler rushed towards the sound and crouched outside a clearing, where broken branches overhead had let sunlight stream in. Ahead of them was a huge, dark shape, at least six or seven feet tall at a glance. They pressed against a tree beside them, holding their breath to avoid making a sound.

The shape groaned and pushed itself up from the ground. It stood hunched, rather than straighten to its full seven feet. Now that it was upright, the Brawler could see that most of it was hidden by huge, leathery wings. It supported itself on bony hands where a bat’s thumbs would be. The Brawler committed as much to memory as they could, unwilling to make a move for something to write with in case the sound alerted the creature.

For a moment, all was still. The beast remained in the faint late-afternoon sunlight and the Brawler stayed concealed in the shadows of the trees, hoping the beast couldn’t smell them. They cursed themself, wishing they’d thought to check which way the wind was blowing. The monster could probably smell them.

They were shaken from their thoughts by the crack of wings beating, and they watched in awe as the beast took flight. It couldn’t spread its wings to their full span in between the trees, but it was clearly enough to get it off the ground. They caught a glimpse of another set of limbs tucked under their wings before it was gone.

The Brawler laughed quietly, delighted. This was the closest they’d ever gotten to one of the beasts, especially one of the chiroptera. They couldn’t wait to get back to their study and update their notes.

\-------

That evening found them alone in their study, a dinner plate forgotten at their side while they sketched what they’d seen. They’d run to their study as quickly as they dared when they’d returned home and had been there ever since. Notes were strewn across their desk as they cross-referenced what they already had with what they’d learnt. 

They were so engrossed in their work that they didn’t hear the knock on the door, nor the creak as it opened.

“Your Highness, you weren’t at dinner, I came to -”

The Dutiful Daughter trailed off, staring at the papers spread across the table.

The Fervent Heir froze, staring at the intruder. Painfully aware that their notes would damn them if the Aunt knew what they were up to. It would be years before they could escape the castle again. They frantically tried to scoop up what they could despite knowing it was likely too late.

The Daughter’s hand on their arm stalled them in their tracks, its grip firm. The Daughter took a deep, controlled breath and looked the Heir in the eye.

“I am the Restless Scholar.”

The Heir blinked, confused, before it dawned on them. The Dutiful Daughter was a public use-name, just like their own.

“I -” They slowly put their notes down, watching the Scholar. “I’m the Fervent Brawler.”

The Scholar simply offered their hand. The Brawler took it carefully and shook it.

“Can I see your notes?”

The Brawler nodded, and uncovered their work with trepidation. The Scholar reached out and sifted through the papers, their eyes growing wide. The Brawler’s heart was in their throat.

The Scholar turned to them.

“This is -” the end, this is the end of it, I’m doomed, filled in the Brawler.

“This is amazing!”

And the Brawler turned wide eyes to the Scholar, a grin slowly spreading across their face.


	2. to make a friend

The Scholar finished combing through the notes and set them down. 

The Brawler hardly dared breathe.

"You believe me?"

"Of course." The Scholar lowered their voice, a hint of sadness in it that disappeared as soon as the Brawler noticed it. "I've seen them too."

The Brawler jumped to their feet in their excitement.

"You have?!" 

"Yes." They tap the page on chiroptera, the large batlike monsters. "These. No reason why the rest wouldn't exist as well."

The Brawler grabbed their hand, nodding wildly.

"They do! They do, I promise, I've seen all of them! I've spoken to the Rubberies, too!"

"Rubberies?"

The Brawler quickly searched the papers on the desk until they found their notes on Rubbery men, thrusting them at the Scholar.

"These!"

They babbled about the encounter while the Scholar read the notes, and handed them another as they put it down.

The candle burned out before they were finished.  
\-------  
The Scholar returned to the palace the next day, and the next after that. It became routine for the Brawler to wait in their study for the footman's message, and go meet the Scholar at the entrance to the castle. 

The Brawler came to learn that the Scholar was an accomplished writer already. With their help, their project improved by leaps and bounds. Evening often found the two of them leaning over the Brawler's desk, the Brawler sketching beasts and dictating notes and the Scholar writing in rapid shorthand, or transcribing the notes into a journal.

Between visits, the Brawler continued their lessons and trips to the villages close to the castle. They found a copy of the Scholar's short story, under 'the Dutiful Daughter', and bought it immediately. It took a place of pride on their shelf.

The Scholar turned bright red when they saw it. They insisted it be hidden away.

The Brawler held it above their head and laughed as the Scholar grabbed for it, until the Scholar realized just who they were playing around with. They drew back and smoothed their skirt.

"My apologies, Your Highness."

The Brawler let their arm drop and huffed.

"You don't have to be so formal! I get enough of that from everyone else."

"Sorry, Your - ah. Brawler." They floundered for a moment, and shut their mouth with a sigh.

It’s a start, at least. They returned the book to the shelf, mood spoiled. Behind them, a rustle of fabric marked the Scholar fidgeting.

“Sorry, I’m not used to -”

“It’s fine.” the Brawler interrupted. When they turned back, the Scholar is staring uncertainly at a point somewhere past their head. “Really, don’t worry about it.”

The Scholar offered only a curt nod, averting their eyes. “I’ll take my leave, Heir?”

“If you want.” Softly, they spoke: “I, um. Would like to see you again soon.”

The Brawler watched the Scholar leave, the mantle of ‘Heir’ heavy on their shoulders.

\-------  
The Scholar remained formal on their next visit as well, and grew stiff whenever anyone passed, staff in particular. Their eyes darted back and forth from the woman serving tea to the pristine white tablecloth.

Early morning sunlight filtered through the windows, which faced the hedge garden outside. The room was decorated in white and pale green. The Restless Scholar’s dress was a pale buttercup yellow, with girlish puffed sleeves and a round skirt. It was a far cry from their usual dark, dignified outfits, but if it bothered them they kept it concealed.

The Brawler was dressed in snug pants and a flowing white shirt that fell freely. They’d left the top few buttons undone anticipating summer heat. The sitting room was cool, not yet warmed by the weak sunlight. 

The servant bowed and left them watching each other in silence. The Scholar did not make a move until the Brawler picked up their own cup. They mirrored the Brawler and drank, setting it back down with a soft click.

The Brawler drew a breath. Someone had to break the stalemate they’d been in since that afternoon with the book, where the Scholar had reverted to the Dutiful Daughter. But when they opened their mouth, they couldn’t find the words. Willing away the slight flush of embarrassment, they tried again.

“Your book is good.”

The Restless Scholar dipped their head. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

“Why’d you get so flustered that time?”

The Scholar’s mouth twitched downwards, almost imperceptibly. “I was simply embarrassed, Your Highness. My work is not read very often. And you’re royalty.”

The Brawler tightened their grip on their cup. “Why are you still being so formal? I told you, call me the Fervent Brawler!”

The Scholar blinked, taken aback. “You’re royalty, I must address you as such -”

“No, you don’t!” the Brawler exploded, slamming a hand on the table. The tea set shook. The Scholar froze, and they reached out slowly to steady the teapot. The Brawler sighed and restrained their frustration. “I’m giving you permission. Please call me by my name.”

The Scholar averted their eyes at first, but looked them in the eye. “I can’t, Your Highness.”

“Why not?”

They sat silently a moment. When it was clear the Scholar didn’t intend to answer, the Brawler dragged their hand down their face and slouched in their chair. “Fine, you don’t have to tell me, if you’re gonna be like that.” They regarded the Scholar through their fingers. The Scholar looked uncomfortable, reaching for a sleeve that wasn’t there to fidget with, and rubbed at their wrist instead.  
“You’re dismissed, if you wanna go.”

The Scholar stood and curtseyed. “Then I will. Thank you for the tea, Your Highness.”

Once their footsteps had faded, the Brawler stood and made their way to the courtyard.

\-------

The Meticulous Captain was running some squires through their drills when the Brawler made it. Outside it was pleasantly warm.

They scanned the group for any faces they recognized. A few they’d seen in passing in the halls - the dark skinned woman who was one of the few willing to spar with the Heir, among others.

They took the long way around the yard to keep away from the mock fight. The Captain gave them a nod. They leaned against the stone wall behind them and watched him bark orders at the trainees.

A boy with dirty blond hair unbalanced and fell, kicking up a puff of dust. His opponent stopped and offered her hand to pull him up. The Brawler recognized him as the Bright Squire, who tended to get over-excited in his enthusiasm. The son of some nobleman, if they remembered right.

While they’d ask to join in most days, their thoughts kept drifting back to the Scholar’s insistence on keeping their distance.

They’d been so excited about the Brawler’s notes, and the Brawler had been overjoyed to have someone who believed them.

An idea occurred to them. It was the monsters that brought them together. Why not go back to that? 

The Brawler hopped to their feet and took off towards their study at a quick walk. When they reached it, they shut the door behind them and began to write on their good stationary.


	3. a hunting trip

The morning dawned with light through the gossamer curtains, sending patches of light across the Daughter’s bed. They blinked awake laying flat on their stomach, face buried in the pale pink pillow. They rolled over and threw the covers off, sitting up and patting the bedside table for their glasses. They unfolded the wire frames and put them on before they got up to get changed.

These last few weeks had been frustrating. They’d been surprised to discover the Heir’s work. Their own family kept any mention of the beast that killed -

Well. They kept any mention under wraps. The Daughter and their brother were forbidden to mention it. But the Heir was researching them! They could finally know why. All they had to do was listen to their parents and their uncle and get into the Heir’s good graces. As obligations go, it wasn’t the worst thing they’d had to do.

The one snag was the incident with the book. They sighed, looking at themselves in the mirror as they ran a brush through their hair. Their grip on the brush tightened. They’d overreacted, badly. Wouldn’t be surprised if the Heir wanted nothing more to do with them, after they’d frozen the Heir out for a few weeks.

Better get moving, if this situation is to be salvaged.

The Dutiful Daughter nearly walked into their mother when they left. She held a white envelope, stamped with a small seal.

“This arrived this morning. It’s for you.”

The Daughter thanked their mother and took the envelope, turning it over and sliding a nail under the seal carefully. The letter inside was on crisp, good-quality paper. The Daughter inspected the seal, and was surprised to find it was from the palace.

The letter read, in practiced script: 

“Restless Scholar;

I’ve planned another scientific expedition and I would like you to accompany me. Please be at the western courtyard two hours before noon. Wear something you don’t mind getting dirty.

Their Royal Highness,

The Fervent ~~Brawler~~ ~~Heir~~ Brawler”

They flipped it over. The outside was addressed to the Dutiful Daughter. The inside had their personal use-name. The signature had been messily blotted out and rewritten.

They pocketed the note and checked the grandfather clock in the hallway. This was their chance, fallen right into their lap. If they wanted to be on time, they’d have to leave now. 

\-------

Their uncle caught their shoulder as they reached the entryway. He was a middle-aged man with hair beginning to thin, but he still stood imperiously. He offered them a smile that offset his bearing.

“Where are you off to?”

“The Heir has summoned me, Uncle.”

His eyes widened a little. He clapped the Daughter on the shoulder.

“They have? Well! Little lamb is moving up in the world! Keep it up.”

The Daughter curtseyed, eyes averted as they were taught. “Thank you, Uncle. I will do my best.”

“Off you go then, girl.”

With a final “Yes, Uncle,” the Daughter allowed a servant to slip their coat over their shoulders and stepped outside, intent on reaching the palace early.

\-------

The way to the palace from their manor was uphill the whole way, as the city was built on the tallest hill in the region, the palace crowning it. At noon, the sun would be nearly exactly over the tallest spire. When the Heir would be crowned, they would stand on the highest balcony in the tallest tower, and they would await the hour when the sun was at its peak. Only then would they be considered the realm’s king.

The Dutiful Daughter had only been a child when the king and queen had died, so they only knew the tradition from their lessons. Their mother had assured them that it looked magnificent. 

They were nearing the gates separating the nobles’ quarter from the palace grounds. The carriage stopped rattling over the cobblestone. The horses stamped outside. The Daughter could just hear the coachman speaking with the gate’s guards, and after a moment, they began to move again.

Conscious of the eyes on them, they accepted the coachman’s hand as he helped them down from the carriage and gave him a nod of thanks. He tipped his hat at them before turning to see to the horses. The Daughter walked as fast as they dared towards the courtyard the Heir had indicated.

\-------

The Brawler fixed their cloak again. They’d been too antsy to wait until the agreed time and arrived far too early. They shielded their eyes with their hand and looked up. Judging by the position of the sun, the meeting time was coming soon.

As they looked back across the courtyard, they spotted the Scholar making their way toward them. They smiled at the Scholar’s practical clothing, as they’d asked. High-waisted riding pants and a loose shirt, tucked in. A light cloak covered their shoulders. They slowed to a stop a respectable distance from the Brawler.

They forced aside the flash of hurt at the Scholar’s distance, reminding themselves that this outing would help close the distance, hopefully. Instead, they waved them closer.

“You’re right on time. I’ve got a lot planned for today.”

The Scholar nodded, eyeing the pack at the Brawler’s feet. Though they waited for a response, the Scholar stayed silent. Their eyes flicked back up to the Brawler’s a few times, glancing away when they realised the Brawler was watching them. 

The Brawler rubbed the back of their neck. The Scholar was always so quiet. They’d be standing silent all day if they didn’t make a move.

They shouldered the bag at their feet and jerked their thumb over their shoulder. “Let’s go, while we’ve still got daylight left.” The Scholar obediently fell into step behind them. The Brawler led them through the grounds, returning nods and salutes from staff and courtiers, but didn’t let it break their stride. The Scholar kept pace with them easily, until they reached the passageway to the woods. There they hesitated a moment, before hurrying to catch up to the Brawler.

“Your Highness, where are we going?” 

Their voice was hushed in the dim tunnel, the loudest sound the barely audible tap of their footsteps.

“The forest. I told you, we’re going on an expedition.” The Brawler hiked the pack up higher on their back. “Got all we need in here. Journals, pencils, that sort of thing.”

The sound the Scholar made in response was noncommittal, but better than the ‘Yes, Your Highness’ they’d been getting since the thing with the book. 

Whenever they stopped to think about it, they couldn’t figure out why the Scholar had gotten so out of sorts over them buying their book. Sure, if they were embarrassed about it that was one thing, but it wasn’t bad writing. The Brawler was too worried they’d retreat from them again to tell them what they thought of it, however.

They emerged from the tunnel in the woods, near the town the Brawler frequented. This time, they turned their back to it, heading deeper into the forest. The most recent reports mentioned a particularly boggy area, and they’d searched their maps in the days leading up to the trip to be certain. The Brawler was confident they were going the right way, though judging by the set of their shoulders, the Scholar wasn’t as assured. They didn’t bother protesting as they followed the Brawler.

After some minutes of walking, the Brawler stopped the Scholar with an arm held in front of them. The Scholar narrowed their eyes at them.

Instead of answering, the Brawler gestured to the bushes around them. “See that?”

The Scholar looked, and did not see it.

“How these branches are broken, here, and here,” the Brawler pointed along one of the snapped branches at thigh height. “Something’s been through here, and it wasn’t trying to be subtle.”

The Scholar crouched to see closer. They pointed at something hidden below the leaves. The Brawler leaned down, their ponytail falling and brushing the Scholar across the face. They scrunched their nose and leaned away from the Brawler, who barely noticed. On a branch that had been hidden by the leaves when they were standing was a clump of dark fur snagged on the break of a branch. The Brawler grinned.

“Good eye! That’s exactly what we’re after. We’re goin’ the right way. Come on!”

They pulled the Scholar to their feet by their arm and tugged them along, the excitement of potentially finding something new carrying them. Behind them, the Scholar stumbled. The Brawler winced and slowed to let them get their feet under themselves properly. When they started moving again, they took a slower pace.

The silence itched at them. 

“So, uh, I guess you’re not used to hiking?”

“Haven’t really had the pleasure.” Was that a note of sarcasm? Buoyed by the Scholar’s defrosting, the Brawler pressed on.

“I do it a lot. I mean, the alternative is stayin’ cooped up in the castle all day, you know?” 

They laughed awkwardly, bending to check for signs of the animal to hide their embarrassed flush. The Scholar’s eyes darted around the trees for a moment before they spoke, surprising the Brawler. They’d only spoken when addressed so far.

“What are we looking for?”

Finally, something they could answer properly. “Some sort of huge beast. Townsman said he saw a big, dark, sort of hulking thing out here by the marsh.”

Under their breath, the Scholar muttered, “Great. Marsh.” Carrying on as if they hadn’t spoken, the Brawler waved ahead of them. “It should be just a little farther this way. We’re almost there,” they added, seeing the Scholar fidgeting with their sleeve.

They nodded at the Brawler. When they didn’t move, they gestured a little impatiently at them, as if to say ‘go on.’ The Brawler cleared their throat and continued.

“When we get there, just stay behind me, okay?” They patted the hilt of their sword at their side. The Scholar’s eyebrows raised minutely at it, as it’d been hidden under their cloak while they were in the open. “I’m not sure what this thing is, but if it’s aggressive, I can deal with it. Don’t make any sudden movements or sounds, it’d scare it.”

As the Brawler wracked their brain for more tips, the Scholar tapped them on the shoulder from their place a step behind. “We’ve reached the marsh.”

So they had. The bog was muddy and damp, and the hum of insects reached them where they stood at the very edge. Dark shapes seemed like monsters rising from the water, but resolved into mossy stones and fallen logs on a second glance. The Brawler frowned to themselves. The water might make tracking difficult. But not impossible, not for them.

They rolled up their sleeves and knelt in the mud, ignoring the Scholar’s sharp intake of breath at the dirt on their clothes. The Scholar stayed standing, leaning over them to see what they were looking at. 

The Brawler scanned the mud, looking for footprints. Finding none, they straightened and picked their way into the bog, careful not to disturb it too much. The Scholar watched, bemused.

The Brawler stopped in the middle of the small clearing, though the bog itself continued deeper into the woods. They brushed a mosquito away from their face. The woods were dark, the trees close enough together to block most of the light. They’d been walking for hours, and the sun had already passed its highest point. The Brawler focused, searching for the break in the pattern - broken branches, tracks, clawed trees. 

“Your Highness?”

They shushed the Scholar.

“Your Highness.”

“Be quiet!”

“It’s here, Your Highness.”

The Brawler turned sharply. The Scholar pointed into the woods to the east. The Brawler followed their gaze and saw -

A huge, dark, hulking beast. Exactly how the townsman had described it.

It moved closer, its shadow stretching ahead of it. A pair of deep red eyes stared from the undergrowth at roughly waist height. The Brawler’s hand crept to their sword.

The world stilled.


End file.
